


Wouldn't Trade You For Anything

by Echo (Lyrecho)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, MTs in this fic Are Not the Canon MTs, Multi, Platonic Soulmates, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-01 05:56:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12150069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrecho/pseuds/Echo
Summary: "His name was Sky," Aranea tells him. "He seemed nice, if quiet."Prompto's first switch seems just like any other - but it soon becomes clear that that isn't the case, and the event that should be one of the happiest of his life becomes a catalyst for a spiral of disaster."His name was Silver," his father says, and smiles. "I'm so glad for you, my son."Noctis' first switch was a weird one - just a single stone cold girl watching over him in an equally cold apartment that he wasn't allowed to leave. But if his father's words are to believed, his partner is a special one - now all he has to do is find them.|Tumblr||Twitter|





	Wouldn't Trade You For Anything

The thing about revolutions is that they hinge on secrecy. On info and actions staying to the shadows, where those in power won't linger in order to drag them out.

But nothing is infallible. Machines can be hacked, codes can be cracked, people can be tortured, or even paid off - fighting for freedom is all well and good, but any revolutionary can tell you that it's the surviving that's important. You can't fight if you're dead.

So you rely on what little else you have available to you to keep the revolution running, to keep those fires burning in the shadows, lighting the way out of oppression.

Anya bites her lip as she watches her leader gaze over the mess of kids assembled in front of them in lines too neat and uniform to be named anything but military, shivering in the Niflheim cold in their thin clothes but not complaining.

It's definitely _Ray_ she's looking at, too - a lot of the newer recruits wouldn't be able to tell, but Anya had been around a long time. She knew when it was Ray and when it was Lila, could tell just from watching them.

It hasn't been Lila in a long time. Not since summer, at least - and with each day that passed without a switch or a sign, Ray had just withdrawn further and further into himself, becoming as glacial and cold as the winter they now found themselves in.

She doesn't like the looks he's giving the kids - all vaguely the same age; pulled from a lab they'd set alight soon before they were locked into armor that would take away their will and autonomy.

"Look at them," he breathes. "Anya, look - we can use this."

She looks, but doesn't want to see. There's gratitude in those eyes staring back at her, buried beneath the fear warring with something scarily close to worship. It's a kind of awe she doesn't want directed at her in any way - but she isn't sure there's anything she can do about that, let alone Ray's suggestion.

"Them, you mean," she says flatly, shifting where she stood so she was facing him, hair falling to cover her lips. These kids are trained - and trained well - long before the final phase of magitek armor welded to skin. She has no doubt they'd be able to read her words, even if they couldn't hear them. "Use _them_."

Ray's gaze is hard to read, and impossible to look away from. "This is war," he points out. "And they're already soldiers."

Anya glares. "They're _kids_." She stresses the last word. Lila probably wouldn't have stood for this, but she's halfway certain that bringing up Ray's switch partner will just get her punched.

"It's not like they'll be fighting," Ray says, and grins. "But what soldier of Niflheim will look twice at a slum kid running about the streets?"

-x-

When Prompto is eleven, he's been free for two years. He wakes up on his birthday and blinks his eyes open to see the cracked plaster of his own ceiling still above him - a coldness to his side tells him that Aranea has already left the bed they share to stave off the worst of the apartments cold; probably for a while.

He slips out of the room and into the kitchen - Aranea stands cooking at the stove, and that's when Prompto automatically just knows it's not her anymore.

"Hey, Ebony," he greets, and halfway through flipping eggs, he startles.

"Ah," he says, turning with a smile on his lips to greet Prompto. There's a weird twist to his words in Aranea's mouth - he wonders if, whoever he is in his own body, Ebony has an accent. "Morning."

There's no mention of his name - Ebony had learnt long ago that Prompto wasn't fond of sharing info, even to the switch partner of the girl he lived with (who has taught him well; bonded or no, a stranger is a stranger. You can't trust anyone), and it's pretty bad form to ask about real names anyway; even if, since Prompto Argentum doesn't technically exist in a legal sense, a name wouldn't lead anyone to his location.

He supposes he could just give his switch name - but that's something to share with whoever will be with him on the other side of his first switch, not with the foreigner who isn't even allowed out of the front door when he 'visits.'

Ebony is dishing up eggs and bacon that Prompto doesn't remember having in the fridge - Aranea must have hidden it away for his birthday, or something - when he slips his phone out of his pocket and shoots a quick message to Biggs as subtly as he can; birthday or not, revolutions wait for no one man, and he knows that Aranea had something going down today. Obviously foreign he may be, Ebony still can't know anything about the resistance. Hell, _Prompto_ can't know anything about the resistance, and he's _in_ it. 

Sometimes, being a kid sucks.

Biggs shoots back an affirmative - they won't drop by the apartment til Aranea's back and Prompto sends out the all clear - and Prompto slips into his seat, just as Ebony looks at it pointedly.

Ebony smiles at him, and it's as weird as it always is, because he and Aranea don't smile the same. Aranea only shows teeth to her enemies, her smile a sharp, sarcastic threat. For Prompto, her smiles are closed mouthed, showing more in her eyes then her mouth; as deceptively gentle as she can be. Wherever Ebony's from, they apparently don't share the same body language, because his smile is as open as the rest of him is, all the tension in Aranea's body bleeding out when he's the one driving it.

"How have you been?" He asks, and Prompto chews at a forkful of eggs slowly before answering, thinking his words through. As far as Ebony knows, Prompto is just a regular kid living with his sister, if a poor one. He probably expects something about school, or friends.

But Prompto isn't _that_ good of an actor, and when it comes down to it, Ebony _is_ Aranea's switch partner. So to at least some degree, he can probably be trusted.

So, he answers as honestly as he can: "Hungry." He smiles, and bites down on a strip of bacon to make a point as concern flickers across the features of Aranea's face. "Pretty sure Val must have been keeping this hidden for my birthday - one of the neighbors probably had it kept in their fridge, and she got it last night while I was sleeping." There are no neighbors, and the famous Niflheim air outside is cold enough that Aranea could have stashed the bacon in one of the hollowed bricks under the window sill and no one would ever be able to tell the difference, but Ebony doesn't need to know that.

Once upon a time, Ebony might have asked a question about parents, or guardians, or Responsible Adult Family Members in general. These days, he knows better, and he knows that Prompto won’t be telling him pretty much anything – so he keeps quiet, and together they silently try to keep the mood as light as possible between them.

“And Val?” Ebony asks, referring to the only name he knows Aranea by – Val, short for Valkyrie, the switch name she’d come up with before Prompto had ever even known her. “How has she been?”

Prompto shrugs. “Good?” he says, and winces when it comes out as a question and Ebony raises a brow. “I mean, she’s been busy, and she’s kind of stressed, but other than that she’s fine.”

Ebony nods, and quietly finishes up the plate of food he had made himself. Prompto wonders what that’s like – eating in a body not your own. He’s sure it must be disconcerting, coming back to yourself to find you’re no longer hungry, or dirty, or in need of the bathroom. The first time Ebony had showered in Aranea’s body had been the first time Prompto had ever seen his sister blush.

(As revenge, he knew, the next time they’d switched she’d done something to Ebony’s body that neither would fess up about – Aranea herself would just grin wickedly in a way that made Prompto think that he didn’t even _want_ to know, and Ebony…well. Those were pretty much the only other times he had seen his sister – or at least her body – blush.)

“Shouldn’t be much longer now,” he says. “We switched a few hours ago; I can’t imagine we’ll stay so for much more time.”

Prompto nods. “Right,” he says. He isn’t sure of the _exact_ age difference between Aranea and Ebony, but he knows that his sister’s switch partner is closer to his own age than hers. They haven’t been bonded for all that long – only a little longer than two years; and as time passes and the bond grows, the amount of time you can spend switched lengthens until you’re capable of doing it at will. Ebony and Aranea aren’t _quite_ there yet – not like Biggs and Wedge, who bonded so deep and so fast they spend about half the time in the other’s body without even really noticing it – but they probably will be, one day soon. It’s just natural progression.

He knows that fact scares Aranea, that she’s almost deathly worried about it – scared of what could happen to any of them if a foreigner can just up and trade places with her at will – but he also knows that she’s going to have to learn to deal with it, just like he will one day.

Ebony’s gaze is lightly curious and considering. “You should be making your first switch soon too, correct?”

Prompto shrugs – Aranea had started switching late, but that was because the switch always kicks in around puberty and her partner hadn’t reached it when she had. Logic states that sometime within the next year or so he’ll probably switch, but that all depends on who his partner is – their age, and if they’re even still alive at all. He’s heard about situations like that happening: people never finding their partners either because they hadn’t been born or simply hadn’t lived to an age where they could switch.

“That all depends on my partner,” he says aloud, and Ebony nods his agreement with a smile.

“True,” he allows. “Have you thought of a switch name?”

Slowly, Prompto nods. “Once I’ve switched, and I’ve given my name…I’m going to tell it to you, too.” He hopes that Ebony understands what he means by this – it’s tradition for your partner’s family to know your switch name before anyone else, so your actual partner would be able to learn it just that much faster.

Ebony’s smile is nothing short of brilliant, and Prompto’s fingers itch to be holding a camera – if he could capture this moment, this brilliant moment on film, he would have blackmail against Aranea for the rest of eternity (to say nothing of how he’d have an image of his sister’s face _actually_ smiling with no reserve.)

As Ebony gathers up his plate to take to the kitchen, Prompto finishes up his own breakfast silently, savouring the rare taste of actual _meat_. Ebony must turn the tap on, because the sound of running water starts up, and Prompto can only hope that he isn’t trying to run it hot, because the hot water has never worked in their apartment.

It’s barely a minute later that Aranea comes storming back into the room, water still running in the kitchen – and it’s definitely Aranea, this time, because Prompto doubts Ebony would be wearing such a ferocious scowl, to say nothing of how they both just moved so differently, even when using the same body.

“What’s the time?” she snaps. “How long were we switched?”

“A few hours,” Prompto says. “He was here and awake before I was; he cooked breakfast.”

Aranea pauses briefly, and licks at her lips, as if suddenly noticing the taste of bacon. “The people on his side are annoying,” she sighs, and slumps down into the chair that Ebony had not long ago vacated. In the kitchen, the water is still running, and Prompto weighs getting up to turn it off against questioning Aranea further – she’s rarely, if ever, offered any info about what happens on her side of things when she and Ebony undergo a switch.

“What do you mean?” he asks, and she sighs once more, deeper.

“I think he works for some noble,” she says. “Or maybe he is a noble, I don’t know, I don’t ask questions. I don’t even leave his apartment when I’m there. I have no idea how you’re meant to act in Insomnia.”

Prompto acknowledges this with a nod. “So, who’s annoying then?”

“His boyfriend, I think?” Aranea shrugs carelessly. “He’s around way too often to just be a friend; I’ve _learnt_ things from Biggs and Wedge.”

Prompto snorts, and Aranea grins. “Anyway,” she says, “from what you’ve told me, Ebony himself is a pretty chill guy, but his boyfriend could get a part time job as an amateur interrogator in any Imperial prison, I guarantee it.”

Prompto laughs out loud, and is about to ask another question when his phone blings – Biggs and Wedge, questioning after his and Aranea’s status.

 _She’s back_ , he texts, a simple answer.

 _On our way_ , they reply, and he looks up from his phone to raise one brow at Aranea. “So what is it that the three of you are getting up to today?”

Her grin is sly, and she shrugs with a deliberate carelessness. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She reaches across the table to ruffle his hair. “Stay inside today, okay, birthday boy?”

He scowls and ducks away from her outstretched hand, reaching up automatically to push his hair back into shape. “Dude,” he says. “Don’t touch the hair.”

She laughs. “Sure thing, sure thing,” she says, backing off. “I’m serious, though – stay inside, little brother.”

Prompto narrows his eyes, and stills in his attempted fixing of his hair. Aranea’s tone is severe, and there’s something in her eyes that has him nervous. “Why?” he asks. “A, what are you planning on _doing_?”

She shakes her head. “You’ll find out soon enough,” she says. “Just stay inside, and stay armed.” She offers him a small smile as she stands and makes to leave. “Love you, little brother.”

“Yeah,” Prompto says softly, and watches her go. The water still running in the kitchen is a haze of white noise that feel almost ominous, and he staggers away from the table to turn it off, just to give himself something to do. “Love you too, sis.”


End file.
